the conduct of a former cow-puncher who had quit a Texas ranch and embarked in the saloon business. So little did a "gun fight" unnerve these heroic men from the Southwest.

The three troops were ordered to deploy to the right of the trail, and to "go in" as soon as the regulars began firing. The wait was brief. A crash in the jungle told of exploding shells, and the whole ridge flamed with fire from Spanish guns. The air was full of the rustling sound of Mauser bullets fired by the enemy, but smokeless powder left his position unrevealed. "Gradually they got our range," says Colonel Roosevelt, "and occasionally one of our men would crumple up. In no case did the man make any outcry when hit, seeming to take it as a matter of course; at the outside making only such remark as, 'Well, I got it that time.'"'

In war all things are new. A trooper of the Tenth, sitting by a stump and firing steadily, was told by a passing comrade:

"You've got a big wound in your hip."

"Oh, that's all right. It's been there for some time," he replied, unconcernedly.

No one was allowed to drop out of the line to care for the wounded or remove the dead; but

the wounded, if able to travel, were ordered to the rear. Rowland, a New Mexican, came back from a dangerous errand on which his commander had sent him, and presently Colonel Roosevelt noticed the man was wounded.

"Where are you hurt, Rowland?" he asked. "Aw-they caved in a couple of ribs for me, I guess."

Colonel Roosevelt ordered him to go to the rear, and make himself as comfortable as he could in the hospital. Rowland, for the first time in his service, grumbled, and was inclined to argue the case. He did not want to leave. But when the order was repeated he disappeared, and was not seen for half an hour. But in the course of the advance, Colonel Roosevelt saw him again, and exclaimed:

"I thought you were told to go to the hospital."

"Aw-I couldn't find the hospital," replied the man, a statement which his colonel doubted. And he remained on the firing-line to the end of the conflict. His conduct was typical of the heroism and fortitude of the whole American army.

The fighting continued for two hours. The

difficulty of finding the enemy was most exasperating. Smokeless powder permitted the Spaniards to fire without disclosing their location, and the black smoke of the Americans always revealed their position. But with all that disadvantage the glasses of the American officers finally found the enemy, and the superior marksmanship of the soldiers drove the red-and-yellow flag and its followers in a run from their breastworks. That portion of their force opposed to the right of the Rough Riders, the left of the regular army men, withdrew completely. Then Colonel Roosevelt hurried to the left, where the resistance, though moderated, still continued. He was not just sure what plan General Young had for the present, and received no orders. "But," he says, "I knew I could not be far wrong if I went forward."

Nothing more truly typical of the man's life has ever been said, and no man has disclosed a characteristic more modestly, or with a more evident unconsciousness of its simple strength.

Here at the left the day had been costly. Captain Capron and Sergeant Hamilton Fish, one the fourth in a line of soldiers, the other the grandson of that Secretary of State who helped

make Grant's cabinet strong, were killed. Lieutenant Thomas, grandson of General Thomas, "the hero of Chickamauga," a boy of twentyone, was badly wounded. Day, a nephew of that William Barker Cushing who sank the Confederate ram Albemarle, in 1864, was fighting hard at the head of his men-troop L, from the Indian Territory; and when the Spanish fire was trying the heroism of Indians, half-breeds and cowboys so severely, Captain McClintock, hurrying to his support, was shot through the thigh. There were some red-tiled buildings about five hundred yards to the front, and from them much of the firing seemed to come. Colonel Roosevelt ordered a charge, and leaping forward, he ran at the head of his men toward the buildings. When they arrived they found heaps of warm and smoking cartridge-shells, and two dead Spanish soldiers. A position of importance had been carried. Shortly afterward Colonel Wood reported that the fight was over for the time, and that the whole line of the enemy had retreated. The Rough Riders had lost eight men killed and thirty-four wounded. One man, Isbell, a halfbreed, was hit seven times. Not a man was in that equivocal list, "the missing."

That ended the struggle of June 24. It was on the evening of the same day that a Spanish officer said, in the hearing of the British consul at Santiago: "The Americans do not fight like other men. When we fire, they run right toward us. We are not used to fighting men who act so." Then followed nearly a week of inactiontrial most severe for fighting men at the front. But on June 30 the order came to hold themselves in readiness, and the exasperating wait was ended. Next noon the Rough Riders struck camp, and, together with the entire army of invasion, marched forward. At night they slept on the summit of El Poso hill, where were some ruined buildings, and where the soldiers found a quantity of food, which was very welcome. The camp for the night being established, the men found a repeated proof of their colonel's quality. He might have taken one of the buildings for his headquarters, for he was at the time the superior officer in command; but he slept in the open, among his men, his saddle as a pillow, his mackintosh being his only shelter.

The men were up with the dawn, and ready for the battle which was very certain to come. At six o'clock the cannon began booming away